


Appearances

by razielim



Series: Merry Smutmas 2018 [4]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Manipulation, Pining, Seduction, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razielim/pseuds/razielim
Summary: Months pass after Laurent’s fateful birthday and the discovery that Auguste’s marriage has been for show for a long time now. Auguste is celebrating his own birthday, and Laurent insists upon pouring him one drink after another. When Auguste returns to his rooms much later, he finds a pet, more beautiful than any other and handpicked by Laurent, waiting for him…





	Appearances

Auguste placed one elegant hand on each of Laurent’s shoulders as he leaned over the back of the chaise.

“And what does my beautiful beloved brother wish for his birthday this year?” he asked, his breath tickling Laurent’s ear.

“You,” Laurent said evenly, not glancing up from his book.

Auguste laughed. “You already have me!” he protested, straightening. “Everything I’ve considered gifting you, you already have, and you always ask for so little.” He sighed dramatically, drumming his fingers on the chaise’s gilded frame.

Just then, Queen Claudia walked in with a question about arrangements for the arriving guests.

“You’re in luck,” Auguste joked over his shoulder, walking to her, “I’m being forcibly removed from the rooms so that you may read in peace.”

Laurent stared at the book, unable to read a single word as Auguste approached his wife and kissed her soundly, drawing her out of the room with a gentle hand around her waist.

He remained lounging with a serene smile for a few more moments after they’d left. Then his mask broke and he hurriedly hid his anguished expression behind his book. Tears soaked the delicate pages.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Laurent stood on the balcony alone, taking in the gardens below as waves of fragrant air washed away the sounds of the party behind him. Beautiful night. A warm breeze, a waxing moon, a gentle wind whispering in the leaves below…

He knew whose footsteps approached him without turning to look.

“Dear brother.” Auguste, often with a flair for being dramatic, spoke in a voice as heavy as though someone had died. He stopped at Laurent’s side, one hip leaning on the railing, and curled his arm around Laurent’s shoulders briefly before thinking better of it and letting go with a bracing squeeze. Sighing heavily, he turned to also look out at the gardens.

“What’s at the heart of all this melancholy? Is there someone?” Auguste tried again.

Laurent resisted fidgeting. “Not in the sense that I have someone.” When Auguste didn’t speak, he continued in the way he usually did when confiding in his brother — _painfully_ honestly. “More in the sense that the one person I want I can’t have.”

Auguste nodded. “Are you certain that it’s hopeless?” he asked softly.

“He’s married,” Laurent said on a bracing breath, straightening out. He couldn’t afford to fall apart.

Auguste leaned into him with a bump, and when Laurent looked up, there was a small smirk on his brother’s sad face. “Maybe his marriage doesn’t fulfill him as much as he wants. He should be so lucky as to find himself endowed with the affections of the king’s brother.”

Laurent looked away, his reply was shot through with bitterness he couldn’t quite restrain. “I’m not his type.”

Auguste snorted at this and muttered something, but turned away to regain his somber bedside manner rather than contest the issue.

Laurent went on the offensive while Auguste was distracted. “Would you? Would you be interested in a naive twenty-year-old, fifteen years your junior, when you already have Claudia by your side? When you’re already in love and everything is perfectly in balance? Would you think of him while playing with Paul and Mariette?”

Auguste stared at him.

Terror shooting through his veins, Laurent shuttered himself off, letting his face slide into a mask of vicious victory.

A small grin tugged at Auguste’s lips. “He’s _fifteen_ years older than you?”

Laurent flushed, looking away. “Well, almost that many,” he muttered defensively, dodging the exact number.

“The whole kingdom thinks you the prettiest prince that has ever graced Arles, and you’re out here miserable about some old lecher with wife and kids?”

“That’s not old. He’s roughly your age.”

But Auguste was laughing outright now. “And pray tell, what was it that bound you to him so faithfully and miserably?”

“The heart wants what it wants,” Laurent replied in clipped tones, so angry and humiliated that his eyes stung.

Auguste’s demeanor sobered. “Of course,” he said, placing his hand across Laurent’s on the marble bannister, “I’m very sorry, Laurent. Of course it does.”

Laurent fished around for something to say that would soothe the rift. He sniffed, blinking rapidly, and dared to ask. He’d never get another chance. “You didn’t say if you would.”

“Ah. Well…” Auguste dragged out, obviously stalling to think it over with due gravity. Then he dropped any pretense of stalling and stared off into the garden.

Auguste remained silent for many minutes.

When he finally spoke, his voice was very low, and Laurent had to look around at him and lean in to hear properly.

“Appearances can be deceiving, Laurent. Would I think fondly of such a youth while playing with my children, imagining him at my side? Certainly not. But I wouldn’t think of Claudia either.”

Laurent jerked in surprise, his stomach flipping upside down. He gripped the handrail, his skin tingling with adrenaline. Auguste’s gaze on his was even, solid, unsettling in its honesty. “What are you saying?” Laurent whispered.

Auguste heaved a sigh and looked away, looking tired. “I’m saying that I love my children and my country.”

Laurent swallowed and the sound echoed in the fragile stillness between them.

He reached out his hand to gently touch Auguste’s elbow, and Auguste took another deep breath, perfect posture deflating so slightly that if Laurent had blinked, he would have missed the difference.

“How long?” Laurent breathed, stepping closer, aware of how dangerous it was to talk of this here. He hadn’t heard so much as a rumor of this. “Were you ever…?”

Auguste blinked up at him and smiled. “Oh yes,” he replied just as quietly. “Yes, certainly. This distance developed over time. Perhaps we might grow closer again one day, but… perhaps not.”

Laurent couldn’t resist and placed a hand on Auguste’s smoothly shaved cheek, pressing his lips to the other one. Auguste laughed and clapped him on the waist.

“It’s nothing, Laurent,” he said as Laurent pulled away, hoping his affections had come off as natural, “I’m not unhappy. But it certainly illustrates my point, doesn’t it?”

“Your point?”

“That perhaps your married man would welcome your ‘naive’ affections. Surely dropping a few hints and some innocent kisses would put the ball in his court and make him wonder if he isn’t missing out on something wonderful,” Auguste said, brushing Laurent’s hair behind his ear.

“I don’t think he’d notice my flirtations. He certainly hasn’t so far,” Laurent said, wilting at his brother’s soft touch, but he quickly forced a smile, seeing Auguste frown in concern. “Perhaps I need to try a different approach.”

Auguste grinned, pulling him back to the celebration. “ _There’s_ my devious dear brother.”

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Auguste tried to discreetly keep the flute confined to Laurent’s grasp, laughing.

“Laurent, I couldn’t possibly drink more!” he said, his breath already hot with wine and liqueurs. “A king shouldn’t be too drunk to stand.”

“He should be on his birthday,” Laurent insisted and slipped a hand out of Auguste’s grip to snatch a second flute from an approaching servant. “The key is to not be the _most_ embarrassingly drunk, and I’m more than willing to fall on that sword for you this evening. Drink, be merry, and I’ll drink more to outshine you.”

Auguste relented, taking the flute between them to his own lips, happy to see the spark in Laurent’s eyes as he did so. Laurent’s melancholy seemed to have lifted somewhat in the months since that hushed conversation. Whether he’d found a new fancy or perhaps had found a way around barriers with his previous one, Auguste didn’t know, but it was a great relief on his heart to see Laurent smiling tonight, full of a flighty nervous energy.

Sipping contentedly from his flute, Auguste watched Laurent scan the crowd. “Looking for someone?”

“Perhaps,” Laurent said, his cheeks turning a bit pink, “Perhaps not.”

“Is that why you’ve been pouring bottles of wine down my throat, dear brother? Planning to make a move tonight but don’t want to be the only piss-drunk member of the royal family at my celebration?”

“I don’t need to be drunk for bravery.” Laurent still wouldn’t meet Auguste’s gaze and grew redder. Then he admitted, “...but it might turn out a lot less embarrassing if _he’s_ a bit tipsy.”

Auguste laughed and obliged Laurent, who’d held his fluke out for a clink. Polished off his drink, Auguste resolved to stop there.

“So is it the same man? Or have you found another?” he pried, deadly curious and well aware that Laurent wouldn’t say anything without being asked. Unable to resist, he ribbed, “Perhaps someone younger?”

Laurent didn’t get ruffled and offhandedly passed another flute to Auguste, who took it before he realized what had happened. He opened his mouth to protest this abuse, but Laurent spoke. “Same man. Getting older every day.”

“So you finally had some luck reeling him in?”

“Not exactly. I don’t think he can comprehend the possibility of me hitting on him and so believes all my charms entirely innocent,” Laurent said, outright smirking now as he watched the crowd. “But I have a plan. He’ll finally see past what he normally sees in me.”

He turned to Auguste, suddenly serious.

“Enough about me,” Laurent said briskly, taking a small sip and waving away all the servants who had been hovering just out of earshot. “I need to relinquish you to the festivities, and before I do that, I need to ask you a very private question.”

Auguste hummed, bracing himself for whatever it could possibly be.

“I took the liberty of arranging a somewhat unorthodox gift for you,” Laurent continued, “I thought you might enjoy it, but I can make other arrangements if the idea of it offends you.”

Laurent watched him cautiously, and Auguste blinked, confused. “Let’s hear it, then. I can’t tell you if the gift offends me when I don’t know what it is.”

“An Akielon bed slave’s first night.” Laurent took another sip. “He was brought to Arles to be a pet, but I did a little negotiating, and…” Laurent trailed off, his eyes darting to Auguste’s then away.

Auguste stood dumbfounded.

“A-and how were you going to present this gift?”

“Privately, obviously,” Laurent said, looking mildly insulted. “He’ll be waiting in your bed at the end of the night. If you approve, of course. Assuming Claudia sleeps…?”

“Separately. She sleeps separately,” Auguste said quietly, looking for a way to free himself from a flute that wasn’t designed to be set down. Finally, he dipped the thin stem into the earth of a nearby potted plant, watching to see it if would topple over. “You need to stop feeding me wine if you want me to be able to appreciate your gift, Laurent.”

Laurent bit his lip. “I thought maybe you’d rather be more relaxed for it.”

“Relaxed is one thing; being too soaked to perform is another.”

“So you approve? I thought maybe… at least because you felt beholden to maintaining appearances…”

Auguste grinned. “Appearances be damned; it’s _been_ a while. He’ll arrive discreetly, won’t he?”

“I’ll show him to your rooms myself.”

“That’s somewhat excessive,” Auguste said, laughing. “Your most loyal servants would do. Is it really his first night?”

“Yes, although… There were some circumstances, and he didn’t complete his training. But he is very lovely, and I don’t think we’ve ever had an Akielon bed slave here in Arles, so — ”

Auguste held up his hand. “Training and expertise aren’t everything. Don’t let all the vipers and the vapids manage to brainwash you into thinking bedding is all about skill, or you’ll grow so self-conscious you’ll never try it for yourself.”

Laurent blushed heavily, looking away, and Auguste found himself wondering for the millionth time why his sweet, beautiful brother remained so chaste. He’d tried asking, but Laurent had always said only that he didn’t want to bed anyone he didn’t love. Auguste would have believed him if there hadn’t been so much insecurity and shame plainly showing in his eyes each time he’d given that answer. He cleared his throat, regretting his words somewhat.

“I do mean it, though. I’m… very much looking forward to this young man, whatever level of training he’s reached. I’ve always been curious about Akielon bed slave practices, but their lack of _freedom_ … Mm, I’m glad this one had the opportunity to become a pet.”

Their conversation was about to end. Vannes was approaching, smiling wickedly the way she did when she had a delicious new anecdote to share.

Laurent toasted Auguste.

“He’ll be in your bed after this is all done, then.”

 And then Vannes was within earshot and pressing yet another flute into Auguste’s hand.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Auguste’s step was uneven as he finally made it into his bedchamber that night. He’d managed to avoid drinking any more wine after escaping Vannes’s toasts, but it had been a very near thing. As people around him grew drunker, it had seemed a shame not to keep pace.

But the thought of Laurent’s gift had held him steady and by the time the guests had started to disperse, he’d felt somewhat more sober than during his conversation with his brother. Still, it was late, and he was so sleepy that he had half a mind to use the Akielon as a pillow rather than a pet. Tossing off coats and shirts as he approached, he wondered at the gloom around him. Had Laurent set it up this way? Auguste preferred a more lighted room for lovemaking. Still, he supposed there was something moody and seductive about it.

Drawing back the curtain on his bed, Auguste faltered.

On his bed sat the single most exquisite pet he had laid eyes on in all his thirty years of life.

Auguste sank to the mattress, staring with wonder.

The pet was blonde, with pale gold, almost silvery, paint that had been applied in a tasteful, dignified manner accentuating his features. So unlike the brilliantly colored pets that typically prowled the castle. His lithe body of modestly arranged limbs was loosely draped in teasingly transparent silks. A perfectly shaped mouth, beautiful cheekbones, and the longest lashes he’d ever seen on a young man. All these features in such perfect balance — neither too soft and round nor too defined and angular.

“Laurent had said you were beautiful,” Auguste whispered. “I think he must have undersold you on purpose so that I’d be taken by surprise.”

The young man visibly bloomed at the praise, unable to keep a shy smile off his face. He bowed and briefly pressed his face against the bed, softly whispering, “I’m happy to please your tastes, Exalted.” There was an accent to the pet’s speech, but he had learned perfect Veretian in his training.

“Tastes?” Auguste asked, crawling forward on his knees to stroke fingertips down the youth’s exquisite face. “I don’t think beauty such as yours is anything less than universal. What is your name?”

“Kallistos, Exalted.”

 _Well-named,_ Auguste thought, _“fairest,”_ _indeed_. With the shadows swallowing them both, Kallistos’s face echoed the half-remembered features of someone dear, the effect incredibly disarming. Auguste’s reverent hands skimmed over the pet, grazing over gauze and painted skin. Kallistos trembled beneath him, seemingly only barely restraining himself from pressing into the touches, expression already rapturous though Auguste had barely had a taste.

“I understand the first night is highly prized in Akielos, by both the slave and the master?” he asked, shifting closer, his breath mingling with Kallistos’s.

“Yes, Exalted,” Kallistos breathed, his deep, innocent eyes fluttering shut, anticipating a kiss.

Auguste watched the pet’s shallow breathing, his rib cage pulsing anxiously, excitedly, the poor boy spiraling in an ecstasy of expectations and fears, dreams and vulnerabilities.

Groaning, Auguste captured him in a kiss.

He was so hungry for all of Kallistos’s weaknesses. He kept moaning as he devoured the boy’s soft lips, pulling them between his teeth, licking inside, pressing in to breathe deeply of his sweet perfume. Soft cries fell from Kallistos every time Auguste’s affections ebbed, muffled between them as Auguste pressed in again. Auguste was so insistent that the boy fell backwards and he had to follow, covering Kallistos with his body, vaguely remembering he had meant to strip the rest of his clothes before falling in bed, but ignoring his intentions and every other useless thought that came, wrapping Kallistos in his arms and rolling with him, groping at a lovely muscular thigh as it came up to wrap around him.

Kallistos was perfect.

Pliant, particularly in how his waist yielded to Auguste’s touch, arching divinely, he was surprisingly muscular for a boy trained only in bedsport and mannerisms. His thighs, his shoulders, his upper back were all hard as rock. And though Kallistos’s fingers trailed over his bare back with the utmost delicacy, the forearm that grazed Auguste’s shoulder was powerfully firm.

There was none of the cushion on the pet’s limbs that Auguste had grown accustomed to during his marriage, only a softness of temperament that excited Auguste’s preferences as readily as female flesh.

Auguste growled, stirred to further arousal by discovery of a new flavor of man, one that appealed to him without compromise or tradeoff. He bit down Kallistos’s neck, restraining himself from causing pain, yet still driven by the mad urge to consume the boy.

Kallistos reacted so desperately to the treatment that Auguste could feel the pet’s thighs twitching around his own, spreading invitingly.

Auguste had to pull himself away, gasping, more exhilarated than he’d felt in years. He found himself looking into dazed pools of blown-out black, Kallistos crooning mournfully at the loss, his pretty lips swollen and wet. Unwrapping Kallistos’s perfectly sculpted leg, Auguste sat back to cool his head and recover his senses.

Kallistos looked hurt for a moment, but reached forward when he saw Auguste pulling at his laces.

“Let me, Exalted, please,” the pet murmured, hands quickly finding the knots and making short work of them.

Auguste lay down to lounge on his side, watching the pet work. Kallistos’s cheeks and ears darkened at the sight of Auguste’s cock, and a slip of tongue ran across his pretty lips. Auguste’s cock responded with a twinge that reflected his sentiments exactly.

When the pet had completed his mission and turned to face him, Auguste reached forward to slip Kallistos’s gauzy wrap off one shoulder. Then, roused by the line of Kallistos’s graceful collarbone, his muscular chest, his exposed nipple that just barely contrasted against pale skin, Auguste pinned him against the bed once more, biting gently at his nipple, up his chest, then coming to smother him with more kisses. Kallistos melted under his attentions, fingers softly hovering at Auguste’s waist, hesitant, unsure if they were allowed to explore.

Auguste pulled away to give him permission for all he wanted and more but found the boy’s eyes full of tears, one glistening trail disappearing into his tousled hair.

“I’ve hurt you,” Auguste guessed, looking at the lips he’d been abusing.

Kallistos blinked, looking surprised, turned away, remembered himself and turned back, looking flustered. “No, Exalted,” he said, flushing hard and suppressing a smile, “I was thinking how good it felt to be under you.” He idly wiped at the tear track on his cheek with one long finger, looking profoundly embarrassed but very pleased to have voiced something so bold.

Auguste laughed, pressing his body firmer against his partner and enjoying the small noise it elicited from Kallistos. “It feels incredible to have you under me as well,” he said, teasingly, nuzzling Kallistos’s smiling cheek. “But if I _do_ hurt you, tell me. I’d want to know.”

Kallistos nodded, breathing “Yes, Exalted,” as he stared up at Auguste with adoring, hauntingly familiar eyes.

Shaking off the strange sense of déjà vu, Auguste pressed another kiss to Kallistos’s lips before he could dwell too much. His hands roamed, pulling the rest of the boy’s skimpy clothing off, palms sliding against hot skin, rubbing Kallistos down with sure strokes to calm his sizzling nervous energy.

Again Kallistos’s legs parted wide, welcoming him, and Auguste pressed as close as their bodies would allow, hand running down to possessively grasp the boy’s firm ass when he felt Kallistos’s thighs lock in above his hips. Kallistos jerked, then moaned weakly, pulling Auguste’s lips tightly against his. Auguste smiled into the kiss, happy at the display of enthusiasm. In Vere, you were always more likely to come across marvelous actors, but Akielos seemed to engender more honesty in lovemaking.

He pulled away to study the beautiful face once more.

It reminded him somewhat of his mother, he thought with amusement.

The longer he watched, the tenser Kallistos grew, shifting under him, his breath speeding up. Auguste kissed him to placate him, then returned to stare deep into those eyes again, certain he must have seen them before. The lashes were traced in a deep blue, and pale gold lined the inner corners of the eyes and trailed on either side of the nose. The effect was subtle but masked the true shape of Kallistos’s features, and Auguste wondered if he should order the youth to indulge him and wash his face. He was suddenly possessed by the idea that if he saw Kallistos’s naked face, he would know the boy more intimately than he had known anyone in his life so far.

“Would you —” he started just as Kallistos murmured, “Is something wrong, Exalted?” then shut his mouth in supreme mortification at having cut off a king.

Auguste laughed and stroked the pet’s cheek and hair. “I was wondering if we should break off for a few moments so you could wash all that paint off.”

Kallistos stiffened under him.

The arms and legs around him no longer felt welcoming and pliant, Kallistos’s whole demeanor cold as thought Auguste’s words had condemned him.

“Why, Exalted?” Kallistos asked in a voice shot through with steel and fear and Auguste stared.

Too late, the pet remembered himself, dropped his gaze, relaxed his grip on Auguste’s body, but his still eyes burned with fury that Auguste couldn’t trace to a logical source.

Auguste struggled with himself. Irritated that a pet trained rigorously as a pleasure slave, who called him “Exalted,” would dare to question his whims in bed, he had half a mind to send Kallistos off to wash his face without any explanation. Simultaneously, he felt so ashamed of himself for being supposedly against slavery, yet feeling entitled to this young man’s deepest anxieties. He took a deep breath to let loose some of his angry energy, remembering that most pets in Vere wouldn’t so much as apologize for being willfully insolent, and that holding an already sublimely submissive boy to a higher standard was ridiculous. Especially as Kallistos had had his training cut short for some mysterious reason.

“Revealing your face would upset you?” he finally asked, and was met with a tight nod, though Kallistos immediately looked calmer.

“Yes, Exalted, it would,” the pet barely breathed, blinking quickly.

All the fight drained out of Auguste and he melted back onto the sweet boy. “Then so be it,” he whispered, kissing Kallistos’s ear, feeling the pet’s ribcage rise and fall between them in a relieved sigh.

The mood had been ruined after all, all tension deflated, and Auguste remembered suddenly how tired he was, how close the night was to sunrise.

Kallistos’s calf moved against his flank, muscular and hot, his gentle hands exploring down the muscle of Auguste’s lower back. Auguste found himself being pulled close, enveloped tighter as Kallistos brought him back into the moment, back to the the purpose of lying here entangled. Slowly, against residual resistance, Auguste allowed himself to be swept up by the sensual touches, his own fingers once more digging into Kallistos’s malleable body.

Kallistos moaned softly, and Auguste’s hunger revived all at once. Rolling, pulling Kallistos on top so that he could have unrestricted access to all of the boy’s body, Auguste moved his lips from the pet’s ear to his neck and back, determined to abuse it all well enough to show up for days.

Kallistos’s fingers dug into his shoulders with a soft whimper as Auguste’s fingers finally reached the well-lubricated entrance to his body and tested the resistance of the rim. Finding it eagerly yielding, he poked the tip of his finger inside, groaning at how Kallistos trembled against him. Still meeting no anxious clenching and only a hungry pulsing that tried to draw him deeper inside, Auguste gave the silky inner tissue a couple loving strokes and pulled his finger out.

He pushed Kallistos up so he could see that angelic face, his thumb stroking softly at a pouty lower lip.

“Sink onto me,” Auguste whispered, reaching down to stroke himself and watching an excited gleam blossom in those dark eyes.

Kallistos sat up clumsily, out of nerves or eager energy, Auguste didn’t know, his fingers shaking as they grasped the head, then the shaft, of Auguste’s dick. Their fingers met, briefly entwining. Kallistos’s wide eyes were locked onto Auguste’s face, adoration and fear setting them alight. Undone, Auguste reverently trailed his hands up the boy’s sides. He didn’t remember the last time a lover had looked at him like he was the whole world. Not even Claudia when they had been in love had shaken him so much with the force of her feelings.

Auguste’s eyelids twitched and finally drifted shut as Kallistos sank onto him. He relaxed back with a low groan, gripping Kallistos’s hips to keep him in place as he swam through the heady pleasure.

Slowly, he let his grip slacken and Kallistos rose, drawing a new groan from Auguste at the cursedly divine pull and clench around him. He opened his eyes, took in those flushed cheeks, bruised lips, groaned again, pulled Kallistos back down. They moved slowly against one other, dark eyes locked together in sacred communication as Kallistos rose up, and Auguste claimed him down.

Too close, but too tired.

Auguste lifted Kallistos off whenever he felt too close, not wanting it to end quite yet, but chased all the while by the heaviness of his lids and limbs.

“Come,” Kallistos whispered, voice thick and scorching, “Come, Exalted, with me, and rest.”

Auguste swallowed thickly, watching Kallistos’s hand working to match Auguste’s state. He hummed, letting himself surrender to the pleasure, watching it approach with all his interest. The jolt came, and, quite unexpectedly, Kallistos broke into a wide, pleased smirk. _It suits him, that smirk_ , Auguste mused as the orgasm forced his eyes closed. He rode it shuddering, choking at the feeling of Kallistos pulsing tightly around him.

When his body relaxed, his mind pleasantly drifting, he felt soft lips cover his. He pulled Kallistos close, taking the boy’s hands in his own. The pet’s come coated one of them, and Auguste squeezed it between their palms, feeling it drip down his wrist as he brought Kallistos to lie next to him.

They panted next to each other, Auguste laughing now and then and listening to Kallistos sigh happily in return.

He meant to say something, anything, just as soon as he recovered, but slowly, happily, Auguste drifted off into peaceful sleep.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Auguste began to snore lightly.

Sighing as quietly as possible, Laurent untangled his hands from his brother’s and started to carefully climb off the mattress. He stood at the foot of the bed, helplessly immobilized, watching. He knew he needed to move, but this night would only last so long and every stolen moment was exquisitely precious.

Finally, one step at a time, he moved away, until Auguste was so far away that there was nothing to do but turn from him, gather up the robe he’d laid out for himself, and steal away through the dark into his own wing of the palace.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more ficlets, imagines, sketches, and paintings on my pillowfort, [razielim](https://www.pillowfort.io/razielim), where I've currently set up residence. Adults only.
> 
> You can also [download all of Smutmas as a PDF](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1oh9x41sqzm-WUpeUA9g942ioQpmd1n77/view?usp=sharing) this year! :D


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